MeTaMoRpHoSiS
by The Scarlet Sky
Summary: A life does not truly become worth living until you discover, for yourself, that it is. No one can do that for you. And no one else is going to try. A story told in three short vignettes by three women: Muffy, Celia, and Nami. Complete.
1. Chapter 1: NewSoul

**Note: **This was inspired by the new theme for The Village Square Writing Festival contest, "New Life," as chosen by Moonlit Dreaming. Of course, I first thought of babies…but then I thought of self-actualization, of changing your life to be something new to oneself or to the world. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you'll like it, too. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, nope.

(**MeTaMoRpHoSiS**)

"NewSoul_"_

A single martini glass, a pack of bubble gum, and a half-soaked cocktail dress bore witness to the change when no one else could. She'd almost smoked, but then again, that would have defied the point, wouldn't it? The martini glass had run dry, nothing left but the olive swirling in its center. Popping, popping, popping went her tongue on the gum, and Muffy gave herself a thin smile at the ray of sunlight coming through the window.

How long had those curtains remained there, anyway? Moth-eaten old things of lace and disease. Her painted fingers ripped them off and wadded them into the garbage with a ring and a rose. With a pause, she spat the gum in, too.

"Griffin?" It was five in the morning, and he certainly couldn't hear, but Muffy's voice sought her own ears more than his. "I'm going out."

Her heels had forgotten the caress of dirt and grass on their soft skin, and her shoulders hadn't recalled the last time they'd been free under the sun's glare. She began to skip, because no one was watching. She began to dance, just because she could.

"_I'm looking for a serious girl. I need someone with their feet on the ground_."

Wildly, Muffy wished it would rain. She wished water would baptize the makeup from her eyes and the curls from her hair, turning her into an untamed child of the world. The sun peeked over the horizon, and Muffy laughed, having not seen sunrise in almost twenty-five years.

"_I'm looking for someone who does as I say. I want a woman who can maintain the household."_

Six year old children did cartwheels in a field of flowers. Women did not. Muffy didn't really care. Her dress fluttered in the wind, catching on her knees and revealing the lacy underthings she'd taken such care to buy for the night. Now she couldn't even recall their color, much less their price. And who had they been for, again?

"_I'm looking for someone supportive and strong. I need a mother who can raise my children strictly and justly."_

Just because, she chased a butterfly. She skipped over rocks in the river; she giggled when she slipped and skinned her knee on the stony bed. Fish tickled her toes, and the nailpolish on all ten of them began to wear out. Some vile red color she'd bought on sale a century ago. She missed glittery pink toenails. How long had it been since she'd had glittery pink toenails?

"_You're going to have to change. If you want me, you're going to have to change for me. You're not good enough as you are."_

The clock, somewhere, was ticking seven. Tired, Muffy lay on the beach's shore, watching the seagulls dip and soar under the lazy clouds. Her chest heaved up and down breathing under beer-stained fabric, and her clear and sober eyes saw the world as a beautiful and open thing—inviting, pure, alive.

He'd told her to get the hell out of his apartment. The other had told her to grow up. The one before that had balked at her career; the one still earlier wanted her to cook, speak another language, have a degree. They all cast her aside, because one girl can't be a thousand things she's never known, and certainly not all at once.

"Such a pretty day," she whispered to the world, and she shut her eyes. The water licked her heels and a crab scurried past her hand, poking it to see what laid there. "Such a beautiful spring day."

It would be another hour before she'd stand up, dust off her ruined dress, toss her frizzy curls and chuckle to herself. That tinkling sound of laughter would follow her to the bar, where she'd serve the morning rounds with a girlish smile; maybe they'd never recognize her without the makeup and hairspray. She might actually have fun with all these free Saturdays in her future. She could remember what fun was: finally starting over, starting fresh.

"_**I'm looking for myself. I think I've finally found her."**_


	2. Chapter 2: NewDream

"NewDream_"_

Every night she'd say her prayers, cross her hands over her heart, and wish for Faith, Hope, and Love. Which was more important, she'd never decided. Hope came first, Love second, but in the end, Faith had been the rock she'd needed.

Celia fingered the feather in her hands. The blue of a forget-me-not struck her as a heavenly shade, but then again, what did she know of heaven, exactly? Heaven could be a garden of endless flowers—she'd like that. Surrounded by creation and beauty and love. Maybe there were rabbits in heaven, too. And deer. And birds. And other free, wild creatures.

"And what do I do now," she spoke to herself. "Oh, Lord, what do I do now?"

The lamp flickered, and she turned back to the book open on her bed, flipping through all the pages until the words all looked the same. Can she do this. Should she. _Why_ shouldn't she. Didn't someone have an answer for her?

"_He's a good man. You'll find out when you meet him. A perfect husband."_

In her mind, there ran a chestnut horse with a young man on its back, and held out a hand tanned by the sun and the elements. In her heart, there stood a little shrine with his name etched on the gate, and in her voice there played a song that only he knew. Her fingers pressed closer together in prayer, and she sobbed, confused beyond belief.

"_He's handsome, clever, witty, charming. He's all you could want."_

She remembered being a little girl, toddling about in the field with her mother. Her clothing had been itchier then, and her food had tasted bad and plain. But in her mind, her mother would always be beautiful. Not in the usual way, but in the extraordinary way, the way that Celia preferred over all the others. The way that made her marvel at the bravery of a woman who gave up seeing half her daughter's life.

"_He's quite well-off. Got a good business going. You'll never be unhappy."_

Reading the letter always hurt the most. Celia poked the paper with her finger, and the words jumped out at her: "Deceased," "So sorry for your loss," "Was a good mother," "In Heaven now." She hoped there were flowers in heaven. Oh, how she hoped. Her mother had always loved those. Roses without thorns had to be in heaven, didn't they?

"_Promises are promises. Your mother is dead now. Shouldn't you marry this man, and make her happy?"_

Her mother's wedding dress had been brought over, and fate had decreed it a perfect fit. The fiancé, whose name slipped Celia's mind, had written saying he'd be in town within the season. He did not enclose a picture. Celia wondered why. Cautiously, she tiptoed to the closet door and pulled out the veil: silky and fragile in her fingers. A spider web of possibilities.

Jack had asked what was wrong last night. She hadn't wanted to, but she'd told him, and suddenly everything had fallen through the bottom: built on wood floors too rotted to be secure. He wished her happiness, he'd said. He hoped her husband knew how lucky he was. Celia squeezed the veil tighter in her grip.

"It's too soon." She licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. She considered how strange it must seem to this man, that she'd never sent him a photo, either. That the one thing linking them was something they'd each never done. "It's too…mysterious."

Deep inside, she promised herself not to do this for the cries of adoration that boy had inspired. She cradled the blue feather in her hands and told herself how lucky she was, how rare this chance could be. This boy could be her soulmate. He could be her heart's true desire. But now, for now, he was a stranger. And Jack, she knew as she fed her blue feather to the wind, was not.

"_**He's just a boy, in the end. And Mommy, I never asked to be his girl."**_


	3. Chapter 3: NewWorld

"NewWorld_"_

Nami's bag was full of shoes. Sneakers, snow boots, sandals, loafers, moccasins. No matter what one wore in the world, different places had different ground, and Nami stood tall on each patch of soil. Nothing shook her, not even now as she walked up the hill out of the valley and out of her mistakes. Like mud, they pulled her deeper. A swamp, that's what it was. A swamp of mistakes.

She hadn't painted in years, but the trees in bloom would have made a glorious portrait on a dull and dreary wall. Pinks, greens, yellows, and gold. All colors she never wore, but loved to see. Reds, blues, and browns got tiring. Frankly, everything got tiring after a while.

"May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back," she recited to the sky. "May the sun shine warmly on your face."

She could've lived here, maybe, in a past life. Sitting outside on the shore, sketching dolphins and shells and whatever she felt like. It'd be an easy kind of life. It'd be nice to have one of those in her past, wouldn't it? But sometimes her heart didn't have the patience for tranquility. Sometimes it raged, and she didn't know why.

"_Why don't you stay awhile?"_

The first time someone had asked, Nami had decided to stay. Years and years ago, it seemed now. So long in the past it shouldn't matter. Sometimes the places all blurred in Nami's mind, creating a 'Nowhere' of sorts that she both missed and loathed all at once. Memories couldn't only be good. Some darkness crept in from time to time.

"_Why be so cold? Why can't you just open up a little deeper?"_

Beneath all the shoes in her bag laid sketches: too many to count and certainly too many to name. Most were strangers, passed on trains and sidewalks, and Nami didn't bother to ask their name before stealing their face. Names led to hellos which led to goodbyes which led to the biggest 'Nowhere' and 'Nothing' of all. The Valley had been nice. The people had been nice. They always were. She always left, anyway.

"_Why don't you find a nice boy and settle down? We have room for you."_

Sometimes Nami didn't believe her blood was really hers. When it lusted for travel, pulling her along an invisible line to 'Somewhere' to escape 'Nowhere,' it felt forced. As if a puppeteer was yanking her along on a string, promising her the world while the scenery behind her never changed once.

"_You're going to die bitter and alone in a strange and empty place, and then you'll wish you'd listened. You'll know better, then."_

Seventeen years old and on the streets, Nami didn't know better. When an Inn welcomed her with open arms, she'd praised her lucky stars and slipped inside. She'd drawn pictures to dot the walls, and told jokes to make the fat lady laugh. She'd blushed when the young son drew near, and made all the right movements when he asked.

Well, the screams had come at seventeen years old, and at twenty-seven, Nami still remembered them just fine. She remembered the real tears, the begging and pleading, the pointing of her tiny fingers at that boy and the deaf protests that fell from her lips. She remembered being tossed out the door without so much as a prayer, being called a lying slut, and limping along to find a home. Now, she didn't need one.

"May the rains fall soft upon your fields." Her hands tightened into fists, invisible tears stinging her eyes. "And 'til we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand."

The road ahead stretched like a ribbon into the dawn, too long to carry too much baggage. Nami shouldered her things, the barest essentials, and she imagined all the places she'd yet to see: Egypt, Italy, Russia. With each landmark, something was left behind, and here in Forget-Me-Not she'd leave the one thing she'd foolishly kept with her all along. You can't travel with a splintered heart. And with so much beauty in this world, why bother to hold onto the ugliness? Her feet moved on their own, no pain to spur them onward. Her heart felt light, felt giddy, felt free.

"_**Why settle for only one corner of this earth? And how can anyone ask for more than an entire world of possibilities?"**_

_**

* * *

**_

Roses crushed in a garbage pail,

A feather for a love that'd surely fail,

An uncertain past we leave behind,

Because yesterday is gone, and today is mine.

_**

* * *

**_

"When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability… To be alive is to be vulnerable."

--Madeleine L'Engle.

_**THE BEGINNING**_

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**End Note: **I hope you enjoyed. :)


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